The Boulevard of Broken Dreams
by sweetPixiesmile
Summary: The hero life is starting to unravel on Shego. Frustrated by her family and disillusioned by her hero status, she encounters a mysterious and alluring thief, The Red Fox. Rating: T . Dark AU. Femslash. Romangst.
1. Prologue

The Boulevard of Broken Dreams

by Green Day

The Boulevard of Broken Dreams

by sweetPixiesmile

It's the earliest memory that I have. A half forgotten dream populated by smudges of shadow against a glowing, antiseptic white. There was a voice, whimpering, sobbing. There are voices, cold, fearsome, warping and waffling along the topology of my fragile consciousness. Some indistinct, some, painfully clear.

"Is it ready?"

"All tests indicate successful integration,-"

"Good. Get it set up and in the program."

"Just remember, like the others, there is not guarantee that there will be any indication-"

"I know. I heard you the first twenty times. C'mon. Budget's a wasting and the mopheads won't wait."

A pause, a cooling in the air. Then a sudden warmth.

"C'mon, you can open your eyes," a third voice, gentle and unafraid, crouching over the shivering, trembling "it".

The sobbing stops.

The whimpering eases.

She should have been afraid. She should have.

"Mama?" I say.


	2. Loneliness One

Loneliness

"Get the fuck off me, you bitch!"

His breath is a cesspool of confusion and pain. His stubbled chin bleeds from a scrape, where he fell on the darklit alley floor. His cape, rancid from sleepless nights and sexual binges, is thrown over his left shoulder, his legs splayed, spreadeagled. He trembles, thrashing, as I tighten my grip, his pleading choking on the bile of pain. I can hear his bones grinding as I lean on my foot, the adhesive sole firmly in middle of his back.

I twist the arm back even more, releasing his repressed scream. Bloody spittle flecks his rictus lips.

"Give me name," I whisper into his ear, powering the sound wave with a low charge beta band plasma spike.

"Please... you don't know...he'll kill me!"

"You're dead anyway," my words are pitched perfectly. I can see his dilated pupils widen even more, the effect of my plasma charged sursurations beginning to tell on his psyche. "But you have a choice."

"Ah ch-choice?" he asks, his voice now tinged with hope. He glances up at my masked visage, his eyes wide.

"You tell, and you get to live... a little worse for wear but then, villainy does that to you. And you go to the Dee-Aeh. You disappear."

"A-and the other...?"

"Well, I let you go. And he look for you. And he WILL find you." I shrug. He gasps as the motion pulls his arm tighter in the lock I have on him. "You don't have to tell ME anything... but will HE be as understanding?" His eyes are saucer round, his pupils dilated like a crack-whore.

"Okay.... okay! Take me to the D.A. I give." I smile, and tighten my grip on his arm, my other hand slipping free to depress my neck stud, a green button on the madarin collar of my tight fitting green and black monkey suit.

"The name of the one who has the nuclear warhead...?"

"Carl.... Carl Ranstig!"

"The Illuminati?"

"He's the one you want! Now get off me and let's head to the D.A." I say nothing. I want effect. I start filling the air with alpha band charges. I release the stud.

"Hey... let me up... I said I give, okay? I gave you the name!" He tries to turn and glances my way, but now all he sees is my hunter's smile.

"Cracker Jack, do you remember Emily?" His eyes, now clear as I pump my voice full of the alpha waves fill with excruciating realization.

"You... you wouldn't! You're a hero!"

He doesn't understand. But that's okay. That's human nature. That's the cannibal eating his own rotting flesh until he realizes he's dying from blood loss, the last gargling cry of a self-centred worm.

"Do you remember Carol?" He stares at me, incomprehending, the darkness looking back at the light. "How about Emily? Amanda, Stella, Corrine..."

He understands now, the litany of names.

"Please.... I... I'm sick, okay? I need help. You're a good guy, right?"

"I never said I was a good guy," I say with a feral grin.

The air fills with the sound of shattering bones, crackling plasma and high pitched screams.

"Shego! What are you doing?"

My annoyance factor suddenly rises exponentially. A blue buffoon appears at the mouth of the alley, his slab-like forehead and boulder shoulders heaving from his run.

"Finally caught up, didja?" I smirk as I walk away from the pathetic, writhing thing that was formerly Andrew Stanton, also known as Cracker Jack, for leaving behind a box of the gcaramel glazed popcorn snack. A Bee and Eee specialist with a penchant for rape and little girls. The big blue jerk staggers past, nudging me as I continue to walk away.

"Oh my... hang on there, citizen! Hang-, Shego, call... where are you going?"

"Got a name. Got the guy. Going home for the triple play."

"But... what have you...?" His eyes are narrowed in disbelieving suspicion.

"Putting food on the table, BROTHER."

"Shego... wait, Shego!"

I turn and walk down the street, smelling the pungent air of sin and self-destruction, only a block away from Go City's council chambers. I stop at the a dimly lit automated teller machine. I pull a card from inside my foot pouch, sliding the card into the slot and punching in my personal identification number. I take a manila envelope from larger slot beside the machine. Before putting a notarized check into the deposit envelope, I look at the amount. Two million, five hundred thousand. I nod at the figure and deposit it into the machine. I take back my card and the transaction slip.

I slip into the alley by the bank and weave my way up the fire-escape. I get to the top and sit on the lip of the building. The moon is a cold silver scar against the darkened sky. The stars are far and distant.

I stare into the sky, the twinkling flames in the sky.

My hands begin to glow, brighter and brighter, hotter and hotter. The cement beneath my feet begins to bubble, even with my wave form shielding. I am incandescent. I am a living, breathing, star. The moonlight disappears as I blaze brighter and brighter. Before the building edge crumbles, I release the light and heat, throwing them into the air with a concussion wave that propels the flames past the sound barrier. Again. And again. And again. The night lights up with fiery green comets, rising through the mesophere.

Carmen.

Miranda.

Jennifer.

Liza.

Brianna.

Neira.

Allison.

Samantha.

Nancy.

Deidre.

Tracy.

Each blast, a name. Each name, a girl. Each girl, raped, dead.

I rub at my burning eyes as the last plasma comet leaves the suffocating embrace of atmosphere.

Sleep easy, angels. Rest and dream of the impossible.

I go home, alone once more.


	3. Loneliness Two

Loneliness – Two

by sweetPixiesmile

I don't really know how old I am, only what my birth certificate and passport say. They say a lot of things. But I know the truth.

My life is one big, fucking lie.

Shego is the only thing that I remember anyone calling me. What kind of shitty name is that? And I've heard it all. Shego Down. Shego pee. There Shego. Shego under. Sheblow. Even "I don't get it."

My passport says that I'm seventeen. It's said that for the last ten years. Can you imagine, being in high school for ten fucking years? And not even a senior. I'd like to know who came up with that one and then Shego fuck him up really good.

Every year, I transfered schools to where they designated my AZ, where I would be the alpha. The government's butcher girl. They paid the bills, gave me a story. Make-up to cover my creme to menthe skin tone. Itched like hell, but then that's what discipline lessons are for.

Gave me a false name. Charlene Tezoun. Transfer student from South Vietnam. Learned how to fake accents, speak different languages.

This year'll be different.

That's what I told myself. You've got brothers now, as stupid and annoying as they can be. You don't have to hide this year, because you've been given a permanent base of operations. You've got public funding, a federal oversight committee. You've got a blue bastard that thinks he's your big brother, even though he's only five. And a purple poser with inferiority issues because he's an idiot. And you're baby sitting a kid with an identity crisis, so much so, that his only friend is himself.

I slip into my room on the top floor, after climbing the whole fucking government's fifty-two story phallic symbol of glass and metal that sits on a deserted rock in the middle of a goddamn harbour. It's like flipping the ever present and uncaring omnipotent being the proverbial bird. The insect that think he's the biggest prick in town because he's finally got himself a gun, swaggering in the middle of beauty and claiming it as his.

I cross my elegantly appointed room willed with neo-deco furniture, black leather and rounded, smooth curves and out the door, into a long corridor that ends in a wide, brightly lit room. A wide beige couch arcs opposite of a huge rear-projection television. To one side is a door. On the other is a kitchen. The reds are huddled on a couch, whispering to each other. I sneak up behind them with a smirk. I set off a nice little concussive boom right behind them.

They scream and jump. One ends up in a large potted fern, the other, hanging from the overhead lamp.

"Shego!" One of them shouts indignantly as I pick up the mag that they had abandoned. I open the centrefold and whistle.

"Can you get any more fake than that?"

"Hey... you won't tell Hego, will you?" the other Wego pleads.

"Why?" I arch an uncaring eyebrow back at them. "You're older than I am. Fend for your fucking self." The hanging one flips down as the other kips up and lands on his feet.

"We would," the one says.

"...but he can be such a prick sometimes." the other finishes.

The Wegos wear red, but really, their skin tone is a light pink. They've been around since about fifteen years ago. The oldest of the bunch, but baby-faced and shortest. They've got it even worse than me, their passport say eleven, and have the last fifteen years. Can't drink, can't smoke, can't drive, can't find a willing woman to have sex. Can't play sports, can't make friends.

"Whatever. Do what ya gotta do." They get that look. Cabin fever.

"Hey, Shego," one of them starts.

"Why don't you do me a favour?" They put their hands on their belts.

"Not in your fucking lifetime, squirt."

"Aw, c'mon!"

"I'm dying here!"

"Keep it in your pants unless you want to see how fast you burn." I can see the calculating look in his eyes before his shoulders slump in defeat.

"I so hate this fucking place," the Wegos mutter in unison, heading for the elevator.

"Tell it to someone who cares," I call after him.

When we'd first been put together by the mucky-mucks, the generals and their little pawns, we were supposed to be a publicity stunt. Funding or something for the project. Put their top operatives together, make them do some public good. A decompression tank for the unstables, rest and relaxation from being in the field.

That almighty sinkhole Star Wars was being scrapped and the Project was hoping to get their share of the new budget line that had just opened up. Had to act all saccharine in front of the cameras. Played the younger, naive daughter, and I was good, I totally sold it with the sob story they manufactured.

I beat down about forty Wegos before they got the message that I wasn't just a green-skinned glory-hole. They couldn't replicate themselves fast enough. Hego, of course, being the youngest and a moron to boot, wouldn't believe me, and Mego had just stood by and watched. So after a nice beat down, I got dibs on the most secure room in the building.

That was four years ago.

The Project was rolling in the green, and all we got was the same old shit.

I'd applied for transfer. Was asked not to ask again, politely, with a nice little swim in pepper spray.

The worse part wasn't that I could get gang-raped by red midgets. It was the drugs and the lab tests they kept putting us through. Hormonal treatments to get us older looking, make it look like we were aging normally. I suspect that's what messed up Hego's brain, with his faster metabolism and enormous size. And he just kept getting bigger.

Mego, on the other hand, just got tall, a purple beanpole.

Oddly, the Wegos didn't change. Heard it was because the technique they used on the successful prototypes.

Me, I got all curvy. Weird mass distribution. I work through it with daily workouts and a form-fitting catsuit that keeps everything where it should be.

It takes less than two seconds to spot the remote and pick it up. I flop down on the couch and turn on the tube. It's at that moment, the most annoying thing in my life shows up.

"Shego, I need to talk to you."

"Fuck off, musclehead, I'm busy."

A large blue bulk parks itself in front of the screen. I sigh.

"You took money, again!" I lean back into the couch.

"And your point is...?"

"We're heroes! We fight for justice, not for money!"

"What the fuck is wrong with you? If you wanna do it for fucking free then be my guest."

"And what you did to Cracker Jack... the District Attorney says the guy won't be able to act as witness on the stand!"

"Don't need to, got the recording right here," I say, tapping my lapel stud. "And I was doing a service."

"You didn't have to emasculate him!"

"Say that to the girls' relatives. That'll go over real swell." He begins to pace.

"Look," he starts, " Mister Big called me in. Those beat downs you've been doling out... it's bad publicity."

"Yeah? So what?" I snort.

"He said if you don't tone it down, lay low for a while, they'll recycle you."

"Love to see them try." Hego looks worried. I try not to. Mister Big and his cronies are not the people you want to piss off. It took me three months to grow enough skin to cover most of the burns from the gallons of pepper spray they dumped on me.

"Come on, Shego. I'm doing this for the good of the team. When we take down Illuminati, you're going to watch the fort."

"What! But I did all the fucking legwork!" I jump to my feet and he plants his size fourteen heel in my shoulder, slamming me through the wooden frame of the couch, crushing me into the springs, digging into my back. I gasp more from the shock than the pain. This was the first time the blue idiot had ever laid a hand on me.

"Sorry, sister, orders and orders." His face is sad and grim, his eyes full of confusion as he leans in on me. "We'll be headed out tonight for an early dawn assault. You mind the store."

I didn't dare light up. We had strict orders not to use our powers against each other. And I couldn't use my voice; all of us can see the spike wave when any of us taps into the power.

"Fine, just get off me, you asshole."

Then I suddenly realize why he looks so confused.

His foot presses down sharply and my collarbone snaps like a twig.

I'm crying and mewling, curled, holding my arm. I roll over, throwing up from the pain.

"Sorry, sister. Orders... are orders."

He steps back, gives me one look as I lie, panting and sweating in the ruins of the couch. Waiting female medtechs rush in to reset the bone before healing factor kicks in. I nearly shriek as they reset the bone and bind it. They help me get cleaned up before they rush out.

At least I didn't scream, I think, when it hits me.

They'd planned this.

Fuckers.


	4. Loneliness Three

A/N: Still looking for a beta!!! In rough, very little thought or corrections made.

* * *

**Loneliness – Three**  
_by sweetPixiesmile_

So I'm languishing in my boredom and my pain on a high backed lounge chair, letting a six pack of nice bourbon and the Wego's tittie mag nurse me back to my old cheerful self, while some young mouse-haired thing cleans up the remains of what was once the couch. I'm a bit buzzed and bothered, so I'm watching her. The girl, as much as she tries to hide it, is completely fascinated with me. She keeps glancing my way with those nice brown eyes, you know that deep dark kind of hazel. Nice chin. Nice hair, a creamy caramel colour. A bit pale, a bit of a stick, but what the hell?

She kneels down with a dustpan and begins sweeping splinters and nails.

As I watch, she glances up and our eyes lock. She blushes and looks away first.

Lust at first blush?

"Hey, chiquita, what's your name?"

She pauses for a moment. I can see her pulse rabbitting on her neck.

"Encarnación..." she says as her cheeks darkening.

"Cute." She flushes even deeper and licks her lips. Her hands do not pause, carefully picking up the larger splinters and placing them carefully inside.

"I guess you know who I am," I lift my uninjured arm and check my claws.

"Yes," she looks back down. "You are la verde doncella hermosa." I nearly bark in laughter.

"Seriously?" From a culture so rich in fantastical mythos, I wasn't really surprised. "Hey, I'm flattered. Although you can call me Shego."

"Yes,... Miss... Shego."

"No, no, just Shego." Her hands still for a moment.

"Yes, Sh-shego," she stumbles as she says my name. I grin, and she returns an uncertain, skittish smile. I stand up, my bound shoulder only twinging.

"Hey, why don't I give you a hand with this shit?" I walk over to the kneeling girl.

"But Mis- I mean, Sh-shego, you are injured..." she rises up smoothly. I lean over, close to her and slip a hand under one half of the broken couch. I hear her breath catch as I lift the hundred and twenty pound half of the couch over my head and carry it out the door and down a corridor to the cargo elevator and toss it in. When I return, Encarnación is busy sweeping the years of accumulated detritus from where the couch had once stood. Coins piled up to one side, the remnants of snacks, wrappers, pens, unidentifiable crumbs disappear into a dust bin.

A hard working little mouse.

I turn and leave, trying not to vomit.

The boys are out reaping the benefits of my hard work, and here I am making small talk with the maid. I should be the one out there, taking down the Illuminati, making hoim feel the roar of my ire and the searing force of my power. Yet, here I was, stuck at home with a bad wing while the testosterone horde is out in force with a whole platoon of Marines. Baby sitting the fort, my ass.

Fuck that shit.

I take the elevator down to "The Tank", the main room for Team Go. A bank of consoles monitors and a huge screen dominates one end of the room, an oval table covers the middle with sixties egg chairs. Across from the elevator doors is the front door. The door doesn't open as I get close, and I frown. I look up at the glow detector and flick a small plasma dart at it, hitting it dead centre of the sensor.

Nothing.

Fuckers! They think they can lock me in, just like that? Keep me out of their hair while they're out playing? I grin. Don't they remember? They've trained me as the vangaurd of Team Go, the shadow in the night, the bright eyed killer. The fucking brains of this lame-assed outfit. I turn to the security cam, and give them my best toothy smile and flip them the bird.

With a brilliant roar of plasma, the doors melt into glowing puddles of slag, and I disappear into the cool, comforting night.


	5. Loneliness Four End

A/N: Based on Disney's Kim Possible. Still needs a beta, but I guess I won't get any bites for this one. No money, don't bother suing me. I'm sick and not feeling well, so blah blah blah, disclaimer.

* * *

**Loneliness - Four - End  
**_by sweetPixiesmile_

Why is it that I feel such an affinity to the moon?

Is it because the sun is a lot like the Goon Squad I've been forced to call my brothers, all brilliant flash, but just hot air in the end? Or perhaps their personality, once you get right down to it, is nothing but a gaseous smoke screen? Or their teeny, tiny minds because they can only hold one thought at a time, and usually it's all about a searing, selfish release with complete and utter disregard for their partner?

Why do I like the moon and the night? Forget the cool air, the gentle breeze. Forget the darkness that covers all and equalizes everything into their most primitive forms of shape and texture and function.

Mercurial.

Mysterious.

Magnetic.

In a word, it's _me_.

And I can light up the night like no tomorrow when I wanted to.

I'm sitting on the ledge of a posh glitz and glitter high-rise, the kind that pop sensations like Mary Mary live in. Across the Go Harbour is a weather station overlooking the Go River Delta, the silt-filled end of a river that begins on one of the low mountain tops and cleaves the Go River Valley in two. 5 miles up river, through the dark, swaying shapes of the forest covered floor I see them coming. Through a sniper's scope that I hold to my eye, I can see the assault gunships escorting their precious Goon Squad in one of three Blackhawks, flying nape of the earth, appearing and disappearing along the waves of trees, in tight formation approaching from the landward side. They're flying in fast, hot and heavy, loaded for bear. I'd already spotted the recon team near the station, poised and ready with a thumper, a wave mapper. The wonders of medical technology, altered for military use.

They hover their LZ, the Marines rappelling expertly down from the hovering helicopters, the gunships circling in overwatch.

From this distance, I can't hear the turrets opening up on a small outcrop that spills out an army of mechanical monstrosities, The Illuminati's cyborg soldiers, but the Marines have already established their base of fire and the waves of metallic carnage is slowed... that is until the Goon Squad makes their appearance.

Hego isn't really immune to bullets and sharp metal edges, per se. His glow increases the hardness and compactness of his skin until it's as dense as his brain, and just as impervious to reason as to bullets. A flash of purple, and I know Mego's charging ahead, too small to be detected, trying to get ahead of the game. The gloryhound that he is, he wants the takedown almost as badly as I do. A multitude of red flashes means that Wego's entered the fray, cutting enough slack for the blue bonehead to take on the large titanic Seraph machine, a fifteen foot humanoid robot with gaping hands that spews napalm and spits laser fire.

I give 'em ten minutes. I stow away my scope and replace it with a diamond filer. The occasional flare on the other side piques my interest but not by much. What the thumper won't tell you is that there's a tunnel, a half mile long, dug into the base of that hill. Eight minutes is all I need to sharpen my claws.

It's a practical thing, really. I need them nice and sharp, not because I can tear through steel and concrete with 'em. It's all magnetics and harmonics and waves and shit. It's because I need fine control of my wave fields, and irregular or split nails can totally mess up my precision. Which I'll need in about two minutes.

I stow the file and flip open a large black impact case. From within, I pull out a set of goggles, a specialized scope and a long molded harness. I fit the scope onto a rubber base and loop the straps around my wrist, the hard, heat resistant, non-conductive rubber immobilizing my right arm, all the way down to the tips of my splayed claws. Peering down the scope, I can see an automated hatch opening. The night sky flares a brilliant white as smoke pours out of the labyrinthine tunnels below the station. The ICBM is launching, but I can see the big blue bastard is jumping onto it, a flash of purple on his shoulder. ICBM is taken care of.

I power up. The harnessed hand for power, the free hand for control. Plasma flickers to life, a tiny seed of bright green. Larger and larger it grows. Brighter and brighter. The heat is excruciating, and my waveform suppression is stretching to it's limit. Plasma spikes flare along my arm, immediately dampened. Sweat beads my brow as a slowly close my free hand, wrestling with the cosmos, celestial powers that God never intended man to control. And I bend it to my will. The ball of plasma, shrinks from the size of a beach ball into a pin point of searing green light that bathes the skyline with green fire.

Sometimes, when I'm riding the edge like this, I feel so alive. One mistake and they wouldn't even have dust to cart away. The entire hillside for a thousand yards would be slagged. And I can feel it, the pleasure and the pain in my core. I grin as I balance life on the teetering brink of insanity and destruction.

And right on schedule, a car bursts out of the tunnel. Through the specialized, polarized scope, I can see it weave through the trees, heading away from the noisy testosterone club. I pause, calculating unconsciously as the car appears and disappears along the forested highway. I've got one shot. A distance of three miles, a two second stretch of road that rides the crest of a hill before dipping down and away into safety. The nose of the car appears in the kill zone.

Go on, baby, go to daddy.

The ball of energy streaks away so fast it's like a beam. To anyone else, it would be like the sun passing overhead in a thunderously split second.

For me, it's a goddamn climax, that much pent-up pressure discharging. A release so sweet that it brings tears to my eyes. I don't need to see the results of my handiwork as my knees give way and a flop down. The air around me is lit up, dust particles flaring, will 'o wisps glimmering soft plasma aftershocks. Waves of magnetics waft on the wind, shifting and shimmering, dancing around in waves. The expanding spherical shock wave of dust green plasma bathes the night as the kill zone erupts in a flare of death.

In your face, fuckers, I giggle to myself in post orgasmic bliss. So I took the prize, even if they took down the missile. They fucked up, to even consider doing it that way. All because they wanted a big takedown. Well, look who took the trophy, eh?

I tug at the harness, fumbling with ecstacy ridden fingers at the straps before stowing the entire assembly into the case. I close and lock the glow-secured clasps. I sigh in satisfaction.

"Now _that_," says a soft, throaty voice behind me, "you don't see everyday." I freeze.

_Oh shit._


	6. Someone One

A/N: Looks like being sick is great fodder for angsty goodness. Yes, yes, it's the Red Fox. Enjoy the banter. Usual disclaimer: Kim Possible and all characters from the show are owned by Disney, I've got no money so don't bother. Now you damned plot bunnies get in line and help me finish _something_!

* * *

**Someone - One**_  
by sweetPixiesmile_

Now in my line of work, it takes a special someone to sneak up on me. Hell, I've been trained in so many different ways, I thought that there'd be no way that someone could ever catch me flatfooted. So get ready for it, 'cause you won't hear it... ever again.

I was wrong.

Was I ever.

I turn around slowly, nonchalantly, keeping my racing thoughts inside my head where they belong.

It's hard to see past all the floating sparks, the residual legacy of my killer strike. My eyes roam the seemingly empty rooftop. I've got to get off of here, but not until I deal with this. The adrenaline of dread washes away the lassitude in my limbs, and my fear boils up from the pit of my stomach, twisting and churning into aggression.

"Aurora, Goddess of the Dawn, borne down from the North Winds by verdant prying fingers, opening the gates of heaven," the hidden woman murmured in the same throaty voice.

What the fuck? Now she was quoting poetry at me, or something?

"Who are you? Show yourself!" A playful titter of laughter floats through the air.

"You're as fiery as your powers imply," the voice laughs. "Oh, I like _you_."

"I can give you a personal introduction if ya like," I snipe back, still unable to find the source of the voice.

"Perhaps. It is like you, beautiful and deadly. I wonder which you would show me, if I show myself." The voice is amused. I fucking hate that. So the girlie wants to talk? So. Let's talk. I begin pitching beta bands.

"I don't like talking to someone I can't see. What are you doing up here?"

"Hmm, and should I tell you, my fiery one? I know what _you_ are doing here." I increase the beta waves.

"Well, at least let me get a look at you." There is a pause.

"Ah, I have you at a disadvantage, don't I. And you do not enjoy that, I think." I keep quiet, concentrating on keeping the hypnotic waves coming. "Very well. Let me set you at your ease."

There is a sudden scraping and a shadow flips up onto the ledge from behind me. I gasp and roll forward, coming up in a ready stance, facing the intruder.

My jaw nearly drops at the sight before me. An athletically curvaceous woman, clad in a graphite grey, tightly woven bodysuit, lounges on the ledge. But what gets me is the mask, a gilded demi-mask, complete with silver tufts and pointed ears, a short protruding snout stylized into a silver faced fox. One hand, with long slim fingers twitches at a long fluffed tail of the same grey. But it's not the very nicely toned limbs or the compact curves of the chest that draws my gaze.

It's the long luxurious waves of bright red hair. I stand there, silent, staring, hoping to god that I'm glaring, because, damn I just lost all sense of my extremities in a rush.

"I am here. Ask if you wish, I may answer." The full luscious lips lilt in gentle amusement.

"So. You know why I'm here. What are _you_ doing here."

"If I tell you I am enjoying the nightlife, would you believe me?" I growl under my breath. "No. I thought not. AAnd I do detest falsehoods and deceptions." The eyes travel slowly up and down my body, and I resist the urge to cover up my assets. The tip of a pink tongue flitters across those lips. "But I _do_ like what I see. Miss Go."

"That's Shego," I growl back. "So you know who I am. Tell me who you are."

"Wouldn't you like to know," the lips quirk in wicked delight, "but then, where's the fun in that?"

Something's wrong, something's off. The air is full of beta waves, but I'm not getting any compliance. If I juice it any more, I'll start to glow. The woman gives a titter of laughter.

"You are a sneaky little thing, aren't you?"

_Oh, that is it_!

I slide step toward her into a forward thrusting kick. She's ready for it and leaps over my head in a high, graceful arc. Fast. Faster than me. Agile. Good moves.

I use my missed kick against the metal ledge to propel me the other way, snapping out a fist, but the lithe form ducks. But now, she's in range, and I can pull out the stops. I put on one of my patented shark grins as my fists do the talking.

She just bobs and weaves, slipping away from each strike, moving gracefully. She's always in my dead zone, a place I can't follow-up easily. The boiling frustration is starting to spike. I drop the beta waves and swing my crossed arms back. My claws flare with a clear deep sound. The plasma boils into existence, two heat charged projectiles that I throw in a one-two combo.

One - distract with the plasma.

She flips backward in a single graceful movement, weaving sinuously, allowing the two balls of plasma to roar by. The stairwell door sags as the plasma hits, melting into the frame. But that's not important. I've got her now.

Two - follow up with a clean hit.

I go in for a strike to her mid-section.

And she does the impossible.

She bends backward and plants her hands on the ground, my fist just grazing her belly.

Aw shit, this is gonna hurt. I try desperately deliver a low palm strike, waiting for her to snap my head off with a flip-kick.

But she doesn't. Instead, she smoothly rolls into a crouch and somehow, slips between my legs and up behind me.

"Oh, you _are_ fun," she breathes into my ear. I bring a ferocious elbow around, but she just flips backward and out of range and back onto the ledge.

"What are you, a circus freak?" I snark, reseting my stance. Damn, she's good.

"I'm not the one wearing harlequin, my dear," she laughs as she cartwheels on the narrow eight inch ledge top. I snarl as I give chase. She trails laughter all the way. God, she's fast!

I suddenly realize that an alarm is sounding behind me. She pauses at the corner of the roof and cocks her head.

"Ah, and I thought we'd have more time to play," she pouts. I arrive with a flaming fist. She flips over as I strike and leans over my shoulder.

"See you later, Princess," she breathes. With a roar, I bring up a reverse kick, but she dodges and steps closer, pressing me against the ledge.

My heart hammers against my chest as the sparkling mask moves in close, my wide, young, disbelieving stare looking into hers. I can see her sapphire eyes behind the mask, twinkling like the stars.

"You do know how to show a girl a good time," she smirks. And I blush.

Belatedly, I bring my hands up for a hold but she's already gone, sprinting down the length of the roof, before leaping off the thirty story high-rise. I rush to the edge, only to see the a dark blurring shape swinging onto the roof of a pub, the grappling hook self retracting. The dark smudge turns and blows me a kiss before disappearing int the shadows with a flirtatious flip of red hair.

I snap out of it when I hear pounding on the staircase door that I had melted into the frame. Right.

The cops that spill onto the roof when I rip the door off with my claws is almost comical.

"Shego?" one of them exclaims, looking up from the pile-up of Go City's finest. "What're you doin' here?"

"Just finishing up some crime stuff, officer...s. Are you guys okay?" The act is pretty convincing, if I say so myself. The young fit ones are grinning and the older portly hands smile indulgently at me. "Hey, I ran into someone on the roof here. She looked suspicious. I tried to stop her but she got away. What's the alarm for?"

"Burglary. A thief stole a very precious diamond that was on loan to one of the tenants."

"Do you think the woman I fought with was the thief?"

"What'd she look like? Can you give us the details?" I cock my head in innocent recollection.

"She was tall, like maybe... six feet? Skinny. Wore a dark grey bodysuit and a silver mask."

"Hey, what's that?" One of the young ones ask, pointing at my chest. I look down.

My own green and black bopdy suit collar is open and unzipped down three inches, exposing a bit of my developing cleavage. Nestled there was a silver and crimson card.

My face turns red. The cops think I'm blushing.

I am so royally pissed off that I stand there, gaping for a moment, flushing with anger and humiliation.

"Oh my god!" I exclaim ingenuously. "How did she do that?" I turn around quickly, my hands to my chest in a display of girlish embarressment. The gathered officers glance about uncomfortably as I make a show of zipping up. The Sergeant barks at them and they scatter for clues. I turn around slowly with the card in my hand.

A crimson imprint of a fox is printed atop a silver background.

"I should have known," Sarge mutters. "The Red Fox."

"Hmm? What? Do you know her?" I ask, showing him the card.

"Sure do, Miss Shego. That there's the calling card of the highest level crime spree of the decade. But I think you're the first one to get a gander at the thief."

"Yeah? I wonder why I haven't heard of her before." I turn toward my case and he follows.

"Me too, but I guess they keep you guys pretty focused on the big dangerous villains."

"So... she's not a villain, or she's not dangerous?" Sarge scratches his scalp under his cap, pushing it askew.

"Well, fer sure she hasn't hurt anyone... and nothing she steals ends up on the market. She's really good at what she does. Had Interpol and MI5 all in stitches a few years ago."

"Hmmm," I reply non-committally. I heft the case onto my shoulder. "Well, we just took down The Illuminati, so I'll be heading home." The Sarge's eyebrows rise up into his hairline, as he affixes his cap.

"The one who had the bomb? We'd summat-... I mean, we...Jesus on a tree, that's why you were here?"

"Yep! Well, it's over now. I gotta get back to the Tower."

"Er... yeah! Sure. And Shego, thanks from the all of us. You ever need anything at all, you can call the Twenty-Second Prescint, you hear?"

"Hey, thanks. Uh... sorry I couldn't catch her. I saw her drop down to the bar across the street over there," I say, pointing. "She caught me off guard, when she jumped off the building. Gave me a fright!"

"That would creep out anyone," Sarge smiles at the feigned naiveté.

"Sorry, I better go. My brother, Hego, he worries when I'm away," I say looking up, shyly.

So easy.

In a few minutes, I'm riding my crotch-rocket back to the hell I call home. But I've got one thing on my mind. I'll find you Red Fox.

And when I do, you'll regret it.


End file.
